


Did You Hear Yourself Say Mutual?

by Meilan_Firaga



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fade to Black, Pre-smut, Sex Pollen, Sex pollen only affects characters who were already attracted to each other, Supernatural Black Market
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 09:55:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20598845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meilan_Firaga/pseuds/Meilan_Firaga
Summary: The Scooby Gang needs some magical ingredients that are coming available during a one night magic black market, but no one's just going to let the Slayer go wandering in and there's really only one person on the team with the knowledge to find everything they're looking for. So, Buffy goes undercover with the Watcher she's avoided being alone with for a very important reason.





	Did You Hear Yourself Say Mutual?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleRaven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRaven/gifts).

It had been a long time since Buffy had gone out on patrol with only Giles for company. She wasn’t exactly sure, but now that she thought about it, it might have been since she was still in high school and he was still her Watcher. That had been years ago. She didn’t know why they’d been avoiding that whole routine. Well… maybe she had some idea. Just for a second, too fast for a normal human to see, she turned her head and gave a full once over to the man who had often been her only true support since she’d come to the Hellmouth. 

Yeah, she definitely had some idea. At least the dim light of the alley would hide the color rising in her cheeks.

“Buffy?” he asked suddenly. “Are you quite alright?”

“Yep.” She shook her head, willing a brightness she wasn’t feeling into her voice. “Totally fine here.”

“You look a bit flushed.”

So much for dim lighting. A subject change was in order. “Not that I’m not thrilled to be doing the Slayer stuff with you tonight, Giles—because I totally am—but why were you so insistent that you be the one to tag along this time?”

“Willow still hasn’t encountered enough illicit substances to recognize everything that might be encountered tonight.” Handkerchief in hand, he paused to lean against the brick on one side of the alley and moved to clean the glasses that for once were not perched on the end of his nose. Momentarily at a loss, he ended up tucking away the handkerchief and pulling out a slim silver case while he talked. Buffy didn’t really need more of an explanation than he gave in that one sentence, so she tuned out his continuing lecture in favor of looking over the change in his appearance.

The mission was to infiltrate a one night marketplace trading in dangerous substances for some ingredients that might come in handy somewhere down the line. They’d never get in the door as the Slayer and her Watcher, but an edgy magic practitioner and the blonde girlfriend half his age were a shoe-in. So, Buffy had channeled a mix of Harmony and Faith while Giles reluctantly brought the Ripper attitude out to play. When they’d had the whole incident with the candy bars before she’d even gotten her license she’d told herself her problem was with Giles behaving like a child. The truth was that she had no idea how to process a Giles that was so unexpectedly attractive. She was getting a hell of a reminder now, and her reaction hadn’t changed.

“Are you even listening to me?” He’d pulled a cigarette from the case and had been gesturing with it in one hand.

“Tuned out after ‘Willow isn’t ready,’” she admitted, giving him a dazzling smile. She had to focus. Giles was family, and that line of thinking wasn’t going to do anything but screw all that up. She was old enough to be over a silly schoolgirl crush. Or at least get through a night pretending she was. “Light that up, Ripper, and let’s go shopping.”

Where the creepy supernatural smugglers were concerned, their entry went smoothly. Giles had sauntered up to the door with a lit cigarette and blown smoke right in the face of the demon blocking their path. Their act must have been convincing, because there was very little hesitation before there were ushered in. What wasn’t smooth were the butterflies fluttering through Buffy’s stomach because the whole thing happened with his arm wrapped tight around her waist and one of his hands drifting ever closer to the swell of her ass. The performance had only just started and she was already having to remind herself just to breathe. 

They moved through the market at an ambling pace, pausing here and there to collect ingredients and tuck them in the oversized purse Buffy was carrying. Giles steered her through the whole thing like she was a particularly impressive toy he was thrilled to show off, playing into his character perfectly. He called her what she assumed were pet names in that weird ( _ hot _ ) bad boy accent and even threw out a few innuendos that were downright filthy when someone started paying them too much attention. The whole thing made it really easy for Buffy to play up the ditzy blonde persona because she absolutely could not think straight. 

By the time they reached the back of the shady warehouse where the whole thing was taking place they’d collected every item on their list. All they needed to do was get back out without any kind of trouble. They even made it almost all the way back to the entrance before someone stepped in their path. They—woman, man, something about them seemed above gender—gave them both a serene smile that seemed entirely out of place in a shopping center that had demon body parts on display.

“A gift,” they said in a thick accent Buffy couldn’t identify, “for your souls.” And then they blew a handful of dust into their faces and vanished.

Buffy sneezed. “Well, that was weird.” She sneezed again, but otherwise didn’t feel any effects from the dust. 

“We have to leave,” Giles hissed in her ear, the Ripper accent completely gone. “Right now.” His grip tightened on her waist as he steered back into the alley and away from the market. They were all the way back to his car before Buffy realized that at some point on the walk she’d entwined her hand with his where it rested on her hip—and, more importantly, he hadn’t done anything to stop her. Giles thumped his fist and then his head against the hood of the car, his shoulders tense beneath the leather jacket he was wearing. All at once he seemed to notice the state of their hands and groaned as he wrenched his free, leaned against the car, and buried his head in the crook of his elbow.

“Giles,” Buffy started, trying not to feel hurt at how quickly he pulled away. It was like she was itching to be constantly touching him. “Why are you wigging?”

“We’ve been dosed.” He straightened up and dragged a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up all over. “Judging by the scent and color I believe it’s—” He launched into lecture mode, Latin included, and told her about weird pollens used in sex rituals. A lot of it was information she didn’t need or care about, but one sentence lodged in her brain and repeated over and over again. When she’d gotten over the implications that phrase made he’d shifted into full on apology, talking about inappropriate behavior and his culpability in it all. His eyes were glazed with the effects of the pollen, but she could see the anguish as he insisted on shouldering all the blame. So, she grabbed him by those shoulders, spun him about, and pinned his back against the car.

“Do me a favor,” she insisted before he could start stammering again. “Repeat exactly who can be affected by this and listen to yourself carefully when you do it.”

His brow furrowed in confusion as he stared down at her. “The pollen can only affect those who share a mutual… oh.” His lips parted, and his eyes lost their manic gleam. Everything in his features softened into something positively molten. “Well, that does change things.”

“Yep.” Buffy released her grip on his shoulders, letting her hands drag across his chest as she stepped back. “So, let’s go somewhere not on a public thoroughfare and see this thing through.” It took all the strength she had to put enough distance between them to make her way to the passenger side of the car. “I’m thinking we’ll need at least a weekend.”

“Actually,” he informed her as he slid behind the wheel, his hand coming to rest on her knee almost absently once he’d put them in gear, “the pollen is only really effective for about twelve hours.”

“For someone with such a big brain you’re pretty dumb sometimes.”

“For someone who’s called me old on more than one ocassion you seem to have great confidence in my stamina.”

“I never said we couldn’t take naps,” she told him with a wolfish grin, her own hand creeping over his thigh while they sped down the road. “I just think we should take them without any clothes.”

“On that I think we can agree.”


End file.
